Gentleman Blackhole

Black Hole was, by all appearances, the perfect gentleman. He wore an immaculate tuxedo, a crisp bow tie, white gloves, and a tall black hat. He spoke politely, held doors open, and possessed an almost old-fashioned sense of courtesy. There was only one problem. People were terrified of standing too close to him. It wasn't because he was rude. It was because he was a black hole. His gravitational pull was not particularly strong when he kept his distance, but everyone knew what would happen if something got too close. A dropped coin might disappear. A loose piece of paper would suddenly fly toward him. And nobody wanted to discover what happened when someone's hat got caught in his pull. So people avoided him. At parties, there was always an empty circle around his chair. At gatherings, nobody sat beside him. Even when he politely offered his hand for a handshake, people hesitated. Black Hole understood. He couldn't blame them. So he simply remained at the edge of the room, sipping his tea through a perfectly ordinary-looking cup and pretending not to notice. Then one day, someone sat beside him. Remote. She looked at his empty side of the table, then at him. “Is this seat taken?” Black Hole blinked. “No, madam.” She sat down. Nothing happened. She calmly placed her drink on the table. Black Hole stared at her. “You aren't afraid?” Remote shrugged. “You haven't sucked me into space yet.” “I assure you, I have no intention of doing so.” “Then we're fine.” For the first time in a very long while, Black Hole smiled. Perhaps being a black hole made him dangerous. Perhaps it made him lonely. But it did not prevent him from being a gentleman. And apparently, it didn't prevent someone from choosing to sit beside him, either.